League of Strikeouts
by Papaya Dreaming
Summary: Relationships go awry in the world of Valoran! These are simple stories meant to start, then conclude a romance between two unlikely champions. But is it REALLY the end? Idk not like I've had any meaningful romances. Chapter one: AhrixNautilus
1. Ahri and Nautilus - Feckless

Feckless

Nautilus was deep. No, not in terms of being a great talking partner. In the fact that the last century passed without the submerged dreadnought even considering the shallows. He wasn't seen in a positive light-last time he showed his visage, a goliath diving suit of rusted brass, the only thing that stopped the villagers' riot was the fact their torches fizzled out in the water.

From that point onwards, Nautilus contented himself with keeping fish company. Oh. And the occasional, obnoxious chat with Fizz.

The fish-warrior-thing circled around him. Taunts bubbled up from his lithe patterns.

"Listen, Naut my pal," Fizz blooped. "That mistress in the boat-she's cute, for a landwalker."

Nautilus felt inclined to agree, even if doing so revealed his focus for the past several days. Ahri. Enchantress. Hailing from the Ionia, perhaps? Or from the jungles of Kumungu? No matter. She was stunning. Every morning for the past several weeks the wisp sailed out in her small rowing boat, manned by one of her several charmed (enslaved) men. Under the hot sun she would stretch herself out, fanning over the edge of the rowboat... to where Nautlus could watch her from the murkiness.

Not one for lagging, Fizz knocked Nautilus's helm with his trident. "Listen, pal! She's charmed more n' half the village. Under her command, they're overfishing the Bilgewater pescano in the area. No pescano, no ecosystem."

Meaning she had to leave. Nautilus hunched over an inch. A cloud of dirt was knocked loose in the action.

"Hey, hey, listen. I see you eyeing the enchantress. So... convince Ahri to slow down. I'll even give you a day to do it."

Nautilus failed to move from his spot. "How?" His voice boomed. It scared away several nearby pescano, their yellow quills shaking fiercely.

"Go from here," Fizz bubbled, pointing at their feet. "To here." He pointed at the much nicer, brighter shallow patch. "A short walk to woo a madame fox."

Despite how much Nautilus despised how Fizz goaded him, he appreciated the offer. So much so, in fact, the spurt of appreciation roused him enough to nod.

"I will go."

Fizz silently swam victory-laps as Nautilus trudged through the seaweed. His giant anchor that kept him under made lines in the sand-crawlerfish went flipping out of their burrows, disoriented or, at worst, crushed under his brass shoes.

As the hunk of metal suspected, Ahri reacted immediately. She dipped behind the boat's edge for cover, then slowly peeked out.

"My, my," she called. "A diver returning from his trip? I see no source of air. Might you be the phantasm my beloveds speak of..."

Nautilus squirmed in the sunlight. "I am." The tenor of his voice shook Ahri's boat, causing her rower some dismay.

"You must want to battle. I may not be able to charm such a being as you, but I can destroy you."

"No!" Nautilus pleaded. In a rare moment of wit, and motion, the dreadnought pointed to his chest. "You have charmed me."

Ahri took half a minute to think about this. If it wasn't for her visage shimmering above the water, he'd think their conversation dead.

"A man (of sorts) who I cannot charm, but loves me? 'Twould feel... nice to see through such a thing for once. Who can it hurt?" She laughed-nervously. "Come, let's join together for a talk. A talk, spirit."

A talk wasn't on the menu. Or it was-just Nautilus was freaking out, too panicked to realize the solution to the alarms blaring in his head: walk onto the shore, and meet her.

No, no, nope. Nautilus picked up his anchor. He would toss it onto her boat and climb in, like a hopeless romantic up to a princess and her tussles of long hair.

"What're" is the word Ahri managed to get out before the anchor smacked straight into her ship, breaking it in half.

Nautilus's hopes sank with Ahri. Even when the enchantress managed to surface, floundering in the water, his hopes still traveled lower.

"Sorry," he said.

"EUGHGAHG!" Ahri smacked the water in futility. "What is wrong with you-oh, spirits, I think I swallowed some fish shit, please, ah, EUGAGARRRG!"

The dreadnought watched on, defeated, as her 'beloved' slave carried her off to the shore.

"I'm leaving this village!" Ahri shrieked, tugging at her ruined hair. "Pescano isn't quite so tasty after you tasted... ah! AHHH!"

Fizz swam up to the tragic bachelor.

"Well, you had her for a moment," he said, patting Nautilus's shoulder.

"Hook, line, and sinked her."

Nautilus reached back and backhanded Fizz in the mouth.


	2. Vayne & Fiddlesticks - Vaynespotting

Vaynespotting

Vayne brought judgement. Vayne brought flutters to Fiddlestick's heart--which, frankly, is not present in his chest at the moment. It was sealed away, a method of curbing his untapped, horrifying power.

The hunter of shadows was horrifyingly beautiful. A dangerous, unrepentant slayer of all things evil, driving crossbows of silver into the chests of all those who elect vice over virtue. If Fiddlesticks ever popped up to wave at her, he'd be picking bolts from his straw for the next week.

And yet, even in this, the worst match possible, there was a chance. Imagining their life together made the nightmare grin so wide, the gap in his rotted cloth hood tore a bit at the seams. Today Vayne represented Lucian in a bid to get the man's wife back. Good, let the purifier have his toy. It was less competition that way.

For the moment, Vayne was warily looking for traps at their meeting point. But wait! She had finished, and was approaching them at a steady pace!

Thresh shoved Fiddlesticks forward.

"I'm not giving away my favorite soul," Thresh said, "so you can squander this 'opportunity.'"

Before the nightmare could reply, Vayne called out to them.

"I demand the soul of Senna the Purifier," she yelled. What a commanding-yet-mystic voice. Were they supposed to be able to hear her?

Quivering as if he was back in the cornfield he was born, Fiddlesticks waved. "J-J-Just a moment. Let's say we talk about... about..." he spat it out. "Our future."

Vayne raised her bow-gauntlet. "Is this some trick?"

"No!" He raised his hands in defeat. "I merely wish to say you're wrong about the darkness. All of this is a big misunderstanding, and we should break this violence with a marriage, or something. He he he..." he realized that was his evil laugh and edited into a nervous chuckle.

Vayne crossed her arms. "What magics summoned such a... the darkness pillages Villages and takes away living souls."

Fiddlesticks hummed to himself.

"You all ruined the most verdant place in Valoran."

"T-Technically not me," Fiddlesticks replied. Thresh gave him a dirty look.

"You wrecked Bandle City!" Vayne cried, frustrated. "So you could try being a rock band!"

"Not invited!" Fiddle cried back. "I wanted to play the banjo."

"If you don't give me a good reason not to, I'm putting you both down and taking that soul." She removed her crossbow--the real train of pain.

Fiddlesticks thought for a moment. "P-People always say, 'evil people are too loud!' Well, I think we are rather quiet."

Vayne growled.

"And people like to claim ghosts are scary, well there are specters like Amumu, and he's simply pathetic--ow! OW! MY LOVE, QUIT IT--ahhh--"

A few hours later, Fiddlestick's body finally wove together. The scarecrow soldered, picking bolts from his body and spiking them into the dirt.

Thresh was in shambles nearby, dismantled by Vayne. Literally. "Well that was worth my favorite soul," he spat. Fiddlesticks could only hang his head in shame.

The moral of the story? Never use a straw-man in an argument.


	3. Kled & Teemo - Mighty and Loud

**Warning: this wasn't written specifically for this series. So this 'breakup' is a little more intense than the others. Includes death.**

* * *

"Skarl looks a bit different," Maxin said.

He sloshed his cup at the creature, spilling some grog on its foot. It keened and curled down to clean itself off. Kled smacked Skarl's back, hard. It howled and bolted for the corner of the tavern.

"Damn it, Skarl!" Kled slurred. "Their plumes darken when they become _stupider!"_

There was a certain grim air to Noxian parties. Kled's eye preferred bright, popping contrasts. Anything that calmed, oppressed, whatever, just made things boring. But still he had chosen the tavern. Stumbled off the street into it. Did he need a moment to relax? The gray, stony room soothed the throbbing pain in his side.

A table full of soldiers, previously busy with intimidating the Tavern's fare, huddled along with Skarl. The veterans in their group sensed something-it was a trait of Noxians, for the weak to avoid confrontations with the strong. Like mongrel dogs, they could smell lightning coming.

Maxin was a bit too hoisted, a bit too green in Kled's world, to play it smart.

"I heard you loved the birdie," Maxin teased. "I heard it's the only thing you love. Why're you yelling at 'er?"

Kled clenched his fists. He'd dared to charge a thousand front-lines. Crushed bones of every nation, creed and beast. Till his hands felt as normal steeped in guts as not. This was a new front. He chose to battle it the one way he knew how.

"I'm a little upset," he replied.

Maxin looked honestly surprised. The soldier wore a badge in the fashion of a crow, to indicate prowess at his military academy. He was a pet like Skarl, pet to Swain. He had wits, could smell weakness when it wafted his way. He leaned in and cracked a smile, showing he had no clue of the second part of that skill: knowing when weakness found was a limp on a direwolf.

"I'd say _little_ is a good word for-"

Kled lanced Maxin's grinning face. It puckered around the shaft of his spear before caving in with a squelch. A squeak escaped the would-be before the clashing combination of splintering wood and screams stormed the tavern.

Kled sputtered and wiped blood from his eyes. _There's so much blood!_ He thought wildly. I _diot! That's why you do it, there's always guts, always! You love it! You love it! It's the only reason this place has got!_

A full blow from the sheath took a lot of effort. He gasped for air and clambered onto the tabletop, eyes searching the crowd of fearful townfolk for signs of resistance.

The soldiers. If they went and told Swain he had killed one of his crows, it would be trouble. Obnoxious, political trouble.

A burly veteran unsheathed his axe and took a stance. The others hesitated, until they realized what Kled was planning to do, and with an air of dread reached for their swords.

A stinging greeted Kled's every movement. Underneath his tattered armor, across sallow bandages, red bloomed. In a minute these old wounds would render him unable to fight.

A minute to kill six soldiers. Excellent.

Grimacing, he lifted up his spear and tried to leap into the fray. His foot slipped on leaked grog and he fell face-first into the floor. Stunned, he heard the soldiers rally and charge. Images swum in his dazed mind.

There had been a hut in the middle of the Kumungu.

* * *

In the middle of the Kumungu stood a hut. Amidst the harsh rain and blistering humidity, one must have put a lot of effort in maintaining the wood finishes, the clean-cut door, the garden out front overflowed with blue foxgrove.

A Yordle skipped around the corner, humming to himself as he went to right a loose panel. He sniffed the air, went still for a moment, then leaned farther down into the toil. The tiny hammer in his hand rapped against the nails, as if nothing in the idyllic scene wanted to rush.

Kled, atop Skarl and recently-emerged from the brush, grinned ear to ear. He never expected to find a talking thing in the jungle. It was looking to be a good sabbatical, already.

"Hey, there!" Kled called. He rode closer, stopping short of the Yordle's home and leaping off. "This is quite the surprise. Who might you be?"

The Yordle inspected Kled's white fur coat. He returned the smile.

"Captain Teemo," the Yordle answered. "Sorry, ignore the rank. Bad habit."

Kled feigned surprise. "A _captain?_ I'll be! Judging by that foxgrove, you're with Demacia?"

Teemo laughed. "They're blue flowers, I just like them."

"But the seeds come from their caravans. I'm a... trader." Foxgrove could use blood as food and bone marrow as fertilizer. It was entertaining to see bright blue pop up around an old ambush site.

"My scouting duties take me everywhere," Teemo said.

"Like the jungle."

Teemo threw a hand across the humble place. "This is where I come to relax. My line of work means I see a lot. It affects the spirit."

Kled cocked an eyebrow. "Are you out here by your lonesome? You'd have to be maintaining this house constantly to keep it standing."

Teemo paused and glanced back up at the one-eyed kin.

Another chipper laugh. "I know, I know! But something about working in the rain makes me happy. All the noise is wonderfully distracting-I'd invite you tea, maybe you will be able to hear the rain patter on the windows..."

"I can stay."

"Great!"

Yes, this was a fine arrangement. At least until he worked out how to kill Captain Teemo, without getting lectured about it.

* * *

Teemo poured out some tea, corner of one eye locked on Skarl.

"Your mount's not going to make a mess, right?" The Yordle asked. "I admit, I'm not comfortable with his being here."

"No, never! She's a smart girl. Knows her place." Kled proudly patted her side. She responded to the praise with a pleased cry.

The inside was tidier than the outside. With lines of herbs and gardening equipment posted to shelves, a single cot tied with expert knot-work being the sole bed. A hook carried a single stepladder, probably used to reach the higher shelves with hunting equipment. Knives, poisons, a blowgun. Kled almost wondered out loud why a captain would be so stupid to leave his weapons out of reach. It would be so easy to-

 _Not yet_ , he thought. _In a bit. Ooh, I'm almost curious about this fellow._

Teemo handed a white mug over.

"Now that we are both settled," he said, "did you want to disclose that you are from Kled of Noxus?"

Kled flung the mug into Teemo's face and spun around to retrieve his lance. By the time it was readied for the stab-stab-stab, the captain had tipped over the table for cover. The Noxian stabbed through the table once, twice, yelling with glee every time he punched out another hole. Excuses rang in his head among the thrashing.

 _Dear Swain, I was figured out too early! Not much I could do, you know I'm no spy._ Stab. _The opportunity surprised me so much it was gone by the time I had my senses._ Stab. _I had no choice but to kill the captain..._

What remained of the square table flew into Kled's shins. He let out a grunt and fell over. To fight back rather than attempt escape… that wasn't very scout-like, but he did ambush the Yordle. From experience, he knew the rage a good cornering could engender in their kind.

The scout emerged wielding a sharp piece of wood. He could have lunged and stabbed at Kled's belly but decided to strike at his lance, causing it to skid away.

In a split second Teemo had pinned him down. Kled could break free that instant, but decided to stare wild-eyed at the scout, spitting and snarling with bemusement sparkling in his eye.

"Enough!" Teemo shouted. "Did you hear me outside? I don't care who you are, Kled of Noxus. I'm not on duty."

"Nobody ever survives when they're this close and I'm this ready," Kled taunted.

"When someone is this ready to kill, I'm usually watching from a distance. Being close is..."

Teemo panted as his words died out. The oddest thing happened.

The room went silent.

A combination of tea and blood ran along Teemo's chin. It weaved through the tangled fur, forming a reddish-green drop at the end. It was set to full onto the Noxian's lolling tongue.

Teemo wiped it away furiously. "I'm not used to this. Are... are you going to hurt me if I let go?"

Kled grinned. "I could hurt you whenever the fuck I want."

"I've watched you do your work," Teemo said, rolling to his feet. He patted the grime off his pants… made a lightning-quick adjustment to the front. "When you rode in, I recognized your scent. I'm sorry. I... got excited and mishandled the situation because I wanted to ask you a question."

"Ask away," Kled said. "Then we get back to the bloodsport." _I_ _think I might want to strangle this one. Hold onto his neck and watch him beg..._

"Do you think it's possible to keep it away?"

Silence.

Then Kled barked with laughter. "Lad, that question makes no sense, and I'm insane."

"I think it might be all the violence I've witnessed." Teemo breathed in. "But every so often, I have this urge to hurt things. It's grown so deafening! So I... so I come out and, and I torture my catch. I used to never eat meat. Without the breaks out here, however, I can barely keep up my façade for several hours. I spend time with my squad, and every little word sounds like a nice reason to explode. _Oh, this fellow made light of me again,_ I think, _time to put a knife through the fellow's mouth._ What is it? How do I make it go away? You choose to let it free so you have to know." The Yordle shuddered and wiped at his eyes. He was distracted.

 _ATTACK, IDIOT!_ Kled's mind roared. _KILL HIM NOW!_

The scout finished crying and looked up, awaiting the Noxian's response.

Things were starting to get intricate. Kled hated intricacies like he hated weaklings. "Look, crybaby. If you want to kill, then you kill. There isn't any escaping it. Harsh world! Very harsh world we live in!"

"I am Captain Teemo, esteemed scout of Bandle City," he growled. "I love my city. What will I do if I harm her?" He stomped a foot on the floor. "I... I can't even be a proper citizen, with a partner and children. Plenty of interest for a captain, but the captain has no interest. Violence has taken me, it seems."

Kled wanted to try something stupid. He finally waved off Skarl, who had been ready to crush Teemo for the last three minutes.

"I am violence incarnate," he said.

Teemo blinked and stepped back. "What are you saying?"

The Noxian rushed forward and caught the scout's arm in a vice grip. "I am violence. Blood. When I kill Demacians, flowers grow over their bodies. I am a fertile kind of violence. I don't know why, but I'll help ya. Calm down and I'll help you understand these feelings. I am their master, after all."

"No!" Teemo tried to tear away, at great pain to his wrist. "I will do a lot to rid myself of this feeling, but I would never make that choice. Bandle City needs me to make great progeny, who can take my place when I—"

"You'll die right here and now," Kled snarled. "Unless you've got the guts to do this."

"It's insane."

"That's the only way to survive."

The scout brought his head up, eyes reddened by tears. Trembling, he ran a hand across Kled's taken eye. It felt more awful than when Garen bludgeoned him in the back of the head, taking his sight—and the last bit of wits he might have ever had. But there were more wits to lose… Kled was whisked up into his decision, unable to save himself from losing himself.

His body fought against it. Roaring, Kled shoved Teemo against the wall. His victim's chest pumped up and down, his hands resting against the seat of his pants. Infuriated further, Kled slammed a hand into the nearby wall. The sound of rain blew inside from the resulting hole.

Skarl let out an intrigued squawk, wondering if she should intervene.

"Get the fuck out, Skarl!" Kled roared. "Get out! GET OUT!"

Skarl fled the room. Kled surged forward and devoured the scout.

* * *

It was morning. It was bright. Kled noticed, among the tangle of scars on his arm, a resting Yordle. A wave of confusion hit him, until he remembered what happened last night.

Teemo's hut was demolished, but he himself had survived. In fact, he was unblemished beside the cut from where the mug hit him. His chest rose and fell slowly, but it was obvious Teemo had woken up either right then, or earlier. Kled had held someone in his arms, and it wasn't for a strangling, or a throttling, or a hurting in one of the other hundreds of ways he knew how.

A strange pride filled the Noxian. "You still feeling awful?" Kled asked.

Teemo laid there motionless. "It didn't help."

For once, anger quiet enough to miss filled him. "Not at all? Lad, we were amazing. I could trade a couple wars if we did this every month."

"Good for you." A shudder had entered Teemo's voice as he got up. He re-dressed himself and went to the door. "I need to finish the paneling outside. There is meat ready to sear on the chopping block once you're dressed. Then you can get on your way, Kled."

"You don't tell me where to go," Kled said. "Let's try another way. I don't like to lose, got it?!"

Or he thought. Instead, he watched silently as Teemo went out.

The quiet anger became full-blown… embarrassment? Kled hastily put on his armor and stormed outside. Skarl waited for him, all ready to leave. She knew it wouldn't work out, she really was a smart beast.

"Spy on you soon," Teemo joked joylessly. "If I'm not stringing up my friends by then."

Kled dug his heels into Skaarl and they rode, out to the brink of the clearing. There would be another chance, another opportunity to fix Teemo before he turned into him. Why was that bad? Was it bad to be Kled, with his dozens of titles and accolades? Who could rip the head off a brambleback and tear the horns off a minotaur?

There was one thing he could do. For himself. No more helping others again.

"Skaarl, turn," he breathed.

The beast loyally turned back around.

"Charge."

Teemo ignored the drumming-lost in misery. By the time he realized what Kled meant to do it was too late. He screamed in agonizing pain as he was run through. Blood spattered the foxgrove and promised to rust the bolts it now dripped from. His hands scratched the wall as the lance ripped out and its owner completed the pass.

The Noxian heeled Skaarl and watched the scout attempt to rise to his feet. There was a groan, a worthy attempt. Teemo slid back down and hit his head on the loose plank, tearing it free. Unable to stand, he crawled through the hole and into his cabin.

"Damn it, Teemo," Kled called out. "Couldn't you have just died?" He dismounted and ducked under the hole to finish this business.

There was no one inside. Yet the door was closed.

Adrenaline pumped through him. This was a scout, not a warrior, not an assassin. Just a scared scout with urges to kill.

The stepladder was missing.

Teemo suddenly appeared. Without so much as a grunt he dug a knife into Kled's shoulder.

Without a second thought the Noxian spun around and got out his pistol, firing at the ground where Teemo should have landed. Instead, he saw the spread-shot hit a mushroom. Which was confusing. Until it exploded. Then the world was too painful for confusion.

The entire wall gave away in the blast. Before Kled had managed to work through the intoxicating poison of the mushroom, or quit rolling backwards from the sheer force, Teemo was upon him. He was stabbed once, twice, three times. It was all over. Kled laid in the grass, staring up at the canopy in disbelief. It was serene until Skaarl's desperate wail filled the clearing.

"Skaarl!" He shouted, getting some of his senses, "Run away, girl!"

Teemo spun around her and caught the beast in the leg, sending her to the ground. She writhed in pain while the scout stood up to full height, looking taller than ever.

"You're no scout," Kled coughed out. "Stay away from 'er!"

"That isn't what I lied about," Teemo told him, inspecting his combat knife. "I was trying to help you."

"H-Help *me*? Back away, or I swear I'll, I'll…"

"I really have been watching you, Kled of Noxus. And I wanted you to stop pretending to be… what I really am."

And with that, Captain Teemo gutted Skaarl.

* * *

"I'd say *little* is a good word for it."

Kled sputtered and tried to get his bearings. He was supposed to be arrested, or beaten to death on the floor of the tavern. What happened? Why was he back here?

Maxin cocked an eyebrow. "You okay there, Yordle? How many drinks can one of your stature handle, truly? I think you reached a limit, whatever it is."

His fingers wrapped around his halberd. Then he remembered that night with Teemo. The real killer. The real beast. Perhaps all the bloodshed and gravity of what he did meant nothing, and it was all pretend. The passion that night had been real. He suspected even the scout, cold-blooded liar he was, didn't expect it to help *him,* or he wouldn't have cut it off.

There was one thing he could do. For himself. And for Teemo.

Sneering, Kled hopped down from his seat and looked up at Maxin.

"I can handle more than you, pet. More than you will ever know."


End file.
